Monday, November 13, 9:00 a.m.

I'm supposed to be headed to Small Talk, but my ROTU is trying to decide between three leotards, so I might be late.

My kids almost missed the bus this morning.  As usual.  Today, I skidded to a stop at the bottom of the hill just in time as the bus was pulling away.  I could tell the driver wanted to leave.  I could hear him (in my mind) saying: "can I just pull out and pretend I didn't see her (not to mention smell the tire fumes as they scraped against the pavement sideways), or should I stop."  Ha ha for him as he had to wait for a car to pass.  Therefore he reluctantly opened the door.  I could see the other kids' noses plastered against the windows as they witnessed this unfolding drama.  Now, I ask you, do you think my kids hustled hurriedly to the bus, panting in exhaustion with the effort of getting on the bus as quickly as possible?  No.  My son, in his usual slow-as-a-glacier manner, sauntered up while adjusting his back pack strap.  Do you think they said "thank you" to the driver?  I'm sure they didn't.  Such a proud moment for me.

AH!  I see ROTU has selected the pink leotard with the black ribbon tutu for today.  That means I should be getting her in the car.

Why is it that after four years of getting ready for school my kids still don't get the routine?  You'd think they would remember that they need to wear shoes.  "Shoes?"  they ask incredulously every morning.  My sister says she actually finds her nine-yr-old son lying on his back every morning on the stair landing with the mental exhaustion of finding socks.

This morning I found my 8-yr-old son hopping around the living room on one indoor soccer shoe two minutes AFTER he was supposed to be in the car.  "Where is your other shoe?!"  I scream.  "Oh yeah."  he chuckles.  "I can't find it." 

Men.